


this is nothing new, it's just the same old blues

by CrystallizedInsomniac



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Body Worship, DFAB reader, Emotional Constipation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Inspired by Fanart, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23402398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrystallizedInsomniac/pseuds/CrystallizedInsomniac
Summary: It occurs to you that you shouldn't accept his invitation — and yet curiosity has always been your downfall.
Relationships: Main Character/Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 104
Kudos: 650





	this is nothing new, it's just the same old blues

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from the song **same old blues** by **phantogram**.
> 
> fic is heavily inspired by this piece of gorgeous [fanart](https://twitter.com/ObAngye/status/1244769605106704385?s=19). angye has single-handedly cured my writers block.

“Asmo,” your voice comes out softer than you wanted, and it makes you have to repeat the demon’s name again before his amber eyes meet yours in the reflection of the mirror. “Asmo, what is this?”

“Hm?” He tilts his head, like he’s not sure what’s wrong with the image of your body reflected at him. “Sweetheart, if you wanted compliments all you need to do is ask and I’d be happy to oblige.” The lilt to his voice and the way he narrows his eyelids spell trouble, but really everything he does spell trouble of the sexual kind.

You had just stepped out of the bathroom after having spent at least an hour inside bathing, after a particular stressful week of examinations — which you aced, _thank you very much_ — and then having to move to another bedroom for the time being, Asmodeus had suggested helping you relax by drawing you a bath. A sweet thought, really. The chocolate covered strawberries — or at least the equivalent of them here in the Devildom — the cherry on top.

You were in a good mood.

That is until you had stepped out of the bathtub, dried yourself off and then put on your underwear, realizing you had forgotten your pajamas outside and walked out. Towel aside, you never really cared for nudity and well, Asmodeus for being a sexual being most of the time, didn't actually look at you any different with or without clothes on — hence, stepping outside without a towel covering you. 

You had caught one look at the mirror and instantly zeroed in on the dark markings on your body. Three of them, to be precise. 

You were one-hundred percent sure you didn't get any tattoos done in the last twenty-four hours. And yet—

" _Asmodeus,_ " maybe the panic lacing your words finally caught his attention. He's standing behind you in a second, confusion marrying his face. "What the fuck happened to my body?"

He blinks, "You mean to tell me you hadn't noticed?"

You glare at him, _if I had I wouldn't be asking you._

“With a body like yours, I’m surprised you don’t stare at yourself in the mirror every waking day,” and it doesn’t matter just how many times he’s run your hands over your body — a touch here and there, a possessive grip on your waist when he wants to make Mammon jealous, the way he plasters himself to your back, like he can’t get enough of you — the goosebumps that arise are a delight to him, if the way he traces your arm with his finger is of any indication.

 _I’m not you_ , settles at the back of your throat. There’s something akin to panic settling in the pit of your stomach that’s beginning to affect your speech.

 _Of course_ you hadn’t noticed, you were never one to take the time to stand in front of a mirror in order to look at yourself, it just — it spelled trouble, memories of years you wished to not even think about anymore.

The only times you looked at yourself in the mirror only happened when you were fully dressed in your RAD uniform, maybe when you were getting dressed for a special occasion. But never naked, or in your underwear.

That luxury has been revoked from you since a couple of days ago when Mammon and Leviathan got into a fight and, well—

Let’s just say your room seems to be a magnet for destruction. Lucifer hadn’t said two words before Asmodeus had whisked you away under the pretense of needing to _spend more time with my favorite human_.

His room is everything you thought it would be—filled to the brim with pillows and lounge chairs, aromatic smells that tend to make you dizzy, in a good way, and dark enough that the lighting that does afford you some visibility also functions as a way to set the mood.

Whatever _‘the mood’_ may be — but it works, ridiculously enough.

But the one thing that does set his room apart from yours, is the quantity of mirrors he owns. You couldn’t help but think that maybe Avatar of Lust was selling himself short, maybe Avatar of Narcissism should’ve been his title.

As far as roommates go — not that you’ve had the pleasure of rooming with the other brothers aside from Beelzebub, nor do you particularly want to if it’s at the expense of your living quarters being destroyed — Asmodeus is pretty decent, if you ignore the flirting and the lack of personal space and the ridiculous amount of insinuations thrown your way.

Asmodeus hums as he steps up behind you, his body a warm presence as he disregards personal space and wraps his arms around your waist. “You look lost, have you really never seen our sigils?”

There’s a hint of disappointment on his voice, and you feel a flash of guiltiness hit you.

His eyes are looking at the three marks scattered across the front of your body, and it takes you a second before a thought pops into your head. “Wait, so I have a mark for… each pact?”

“And you look absolutely divine with them, I could just eat you up.”

You shrug him off. “Asmo _, focus_.”

The demon rolls his eyes but concedes, and while he doesn’t take a step back or move away from your personal bubble, his arms do unwrap from your waist. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m only seeing three marks,” you decide to ignore him. “Why is that?”

 _"Sigils,"_ He corrects, and then his face lightens up. A part of you can’t help but wonder just how he manages to find an excuse to feel you up all the time. It’s ridiculous, its what it is. “Allow me to show you, it's only fair since you _clearly_ don't know how lucky you are."

He doesn't give you time to even ask what he means before you find one hand sneaking away from your waist and slowly trailing down your stomach, his touch is light and fleeting and the look you see in his eyes when your gaze shifts from watching his fingers trace a path down your stomach, right towards your pelvis, is both hungry and affectionate.

There's a steady blush accompanying your heated body, and a part of you thinks, ridiculously — your mother would weep at the idea of a demon touching their kid while they're only clad in their underwear.

But here we are. _Clearly_ something must've fried your rational thoughts if standing half-naked in front of the embodiment of lust isn't scaring you, and you come to realize that maybe it's because you trust him. And that?

That's just a can of worms you're not quite ready to open up yet — tattoos on your body first, after all.

Asmodeus' touching stops at the beginning of the first sigil. He coos in your ear, drawing your attention back to him, and then directing it back towards your reflection in the mirror.

"Can you tell the sigils apart?" His voice comes out soft, even without looking up from his fingers on the sigil sprawled across your pelvis, dipping indecently low past the waistband of your underwear, you can tell he's looking at you. His finger traces the marking, and the heat that follows after his touch knocks your breath away. 

You shake your head, Asmodeus nods.

"This one is Mammon's," he lets out a huff of laughter — and your mind can't help but think, _pretty_ — at your expression, and proceeds to explain; "Surprised?"

"I thought maybe—" 

"Because of the location, it might be mine?" He sounds _delighted_ , for some reason you're not quite keen on figuring out just yet, or maybe ever. "While I would love for you to look at my sigil while you're pleasuring yourself—"

" _Asmo_ ," and that's not an embarrassed whine, it's _not_.

"—we don't get to decide where they end up. Although, I do quite like where mine ended up being." He finishes his thoughts by tapping the sigil — _Mammon's_ sigil — twice. "I'd love to see how far down Mammon's go, but I do so love teaching you new things about your body."

You try to step on his foot, and he moves away slightly. His laughter is crystal clear and melodic. Some of the tension in your body leaves. It's just Asmo being his usual self, you're chalking off your nerves to being half-naked, but he's not treating you any different than when you're wearing clothes. 

Your hands feel useless to your sides as Asmodeus' continues his little anatomy lesson by trailing his hand up your body and stopping in the space between your breasts — the sigil here partially obscured by the bra you're wearing. The demon's eyes furrow, "Maybe if you—"

"No." You nip that line of thinking right at the bud. Before Asmodeus' opens up his mouth to protest, you raise one hand to meet his. "Um, I think I know whose this is."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Do enlighten me."

"Satan," when his eyes widen momentarily you feel the need to explain yourself, "I uh, could be wrong but—it looks like the symbol peop— _humans_ , usually associate with uh, our image of what Satan is supposed to be but—"

"—That's Baphomet's sigil." Asmodeus tilts his head to the side curiously, "If you ask me, I believe Satan's is much more elegant."

You find yourself nodding along. "So I was right?" The thing is, you know you're right, like there's something in you that _knows_ — just as breathing is.

"Yes, and you're full of surprises." The admiration in his voice has you flustered, "my special little human indeed."

You let a small smile grace your lips, and then a small breath out when Asmodeus' hand leaves yours and trails down your body once more. This time his whole body goes down as he crouches down to your hip level, and the hot breathing on your thighs works as a distraction from his hands — _hands_ , plural, as he has gone from using one to using the both of them to trail them up your thigh. 

Asmodeus looks up at you from the mirror, and you catch his gaze. His eyes seem to twinkle, and like the asshole he is he licks his lips and makes a comment about how _sweet_ you smell.

You let out a huff of breath, "Is this one yours?"

The sigil on your thigh takes up a lot of space, mainly on the inner-side of your thigh, dangerously close to your crotch. It makes you wonder just _how_ you hadn't noticed these before.

Asmodeus, not wasting any time, begins to trail the design on your thigh — you're not sure if he's doing it to be a tease or because he's genuinely interested in seeing his brother's work. 

"No, this is actually Beel's." A dreamy look crosses his face then, a faint blush marrying his skin and _that_ has you somewhat concerned. "I'm so jealous, I can only imagine how much of a turn on it'd be to see my sigil right there as I'm performing cunnilingus." 

And _fuck_ , maybe it's the air in the room or Asmodeus' powerful presence, but the idea of Beelzebub eating you out is — it's _hot._

Asmodeus' grin turns sharp and knowing, "I caught that. I'll keep it in mind for next time."

You're not sure what he means by next time, and you don't get the chance to answer either, because next thing you know he's standing up again to his full height — just a couple of centimeters taller than you, but not much — and grabbing on to your arm. He sounds bored when he proclaims that Leviathan's sigil is placed right on your back, off to the side. 

He doesn't offer you a chance to try and look at it — heavens know you'd actually manage it what's with all the mirrors in the vicinity — so you make a mental note to ask Mammon to take a picture of it later for you. 

And then he presses a kiss to your nape, lingering there. You can feel his smile as he enjoys the small tremble that rakes your body at the small action. "And mine, of course, is right here."

"The back of my neck?" Well, that's surprising actually.

"Hm," Asmodeus agrees, and as if reading your mind, says; "It's quite noticeable actually, beginning from here," lips pressing into your hairline and trailing down until it's level with your shoulders, "to here."

"Oh," because what else are you supposed to say in this situation? "I didn't know."

"Well, it was my absolute _pleasure_ to help you out. It's quite normal between demons and humans that wish to make a pact — to have the mark of a sigil, that is."

“But, you don’t have any…” Your voice trails off, and _this_ you’re sure of. You’ve seen Asmodeus naked way too many times in the span of seventy-two hours to count.

Through the mirror you watch Asmodeus’ entertained smile, like you made a joke you weren’t privy to.

He sneaks his arms around your waist again, squeezes softly before biting gently at your earlobe. It takes you a lot of will-power to not squirm in place — he likes that, he _loves_ it.

“I don’t need any,” he says like it’s justification enough, and the assault on your ear continues to your neck with butterfly kisses—just barely a hint of lips ghosting across the expanse of your neck before settling in your collarbones — before he leans his chin on the divot between your shoulder and chest. “They're there to let others know who own you.”

Oh.

_Oh._

And well, that shouldn’t peak your interest the way it does—your traitorous heart skipping a beat, the way your face suddenly feels warm, your throat going dry. But it does, and Asmodeus’s eyes flash with a knowing look and suddenly the hands on your waist don’t feel as innocent as before anymore.

“If you’d like, I could help you get a few other markings,” Asmodeus has never shied away from looking at you like you’re something to be eaten — it’s the sort of look Beelzebub gets when he sees food in front of him — and this time is no different.

The irritation that bubbles inside you has nothing to do with the demon’s antics, it’s mainly on yourself—for letting the demon even make you entertain the idea.

And just because that hypnosis thing of his doesn’t work on you, doesn’t mean that your body isn’t reacting to his suggestions — you _are_ human after all. It’s just that, you know—having _tattoos_ on your body that look like something straight out of a satanic ritual wasn’t in your mind when you’d have to go back home and explain just where the fuck you had run off too for a whole year.

Just like your first day in the Devildom, you’re expected to take it in stride.

That’s enough to kill any arousal, really.

“No thanks,” you say, suddenly feeling exhausted to the bone. Asmodeus pouts, already used to your refusals, before he steps away from you and goes back to painting his nails. In the mirror, you can’t help but trace the sigils on your skin with your eyes — maybe if you stared hard enough, they’d disappear.

As if sensing your displeasure, Asmodeus pipes up with; “Darling, they’re there to stay.” And well, you can’t really say you were expecting _extended_ comfort from him, but even then, the dismissal of the topic has you feeling bothered.

With one last look at yourself, you put on your pajamas.

+

After a while, it gets easier to simply ignore the sigils.

The brothers prove a handful already, and with tensions high about the end of the school semester — mainly from Lucifer threatening Mammon at any chance to skin him alive if he doesn't make it to the top fifty scores in the whole school — your life suddenly goes from exciting adventures with the family, to books and homework and countless nights pulling all-nighters.

You don't exactly have time to worry about marks that, as far as you're aware, are completely harmless.

(If you ignore the fact that they're there because you quite literally own a living being).

The bell snaps you out of your thoughts, signaling the last class of the day and the week. There's an excited air to the classroom as the students file out, topics of what they're going to be doing during this week-long break before finals floating in the air. You carefully pack all of your belongings inside your bag, looking up when Luke and Simeon call your name.

You offer them both a small smile. This particular class is the only one you share with the angels, and it's certainly a nice way to end the day.

You love Mammon, you truly do but — you also need your space, and you can already tell by tonight that the conversation topic around diner is going to be about Mammon's grades and how you're going to help him pass the finals with at least a decent grade.

Whether this comes as a favor asked of you by Lucifer — which means, not a favor but an order — or Mammon begging you for it, well, you're not too kin on finding out just yet.

As the three of you walk the halls of the school, with the library being the destination — Simeon says he has to return a book he had borrowed two weeks ago — you can't help but ask if they have any plans themselves for the week.

"Simeon got me a brand new baking book, so I'll spend this time perfecting my skills!" Luke's enthusiasm manages to bring a smile to your face. 

"So no studying?" You quirk an eyebrow. 

"It-it's not that I'm not going to be studying," Luke huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, "what kind of heaven representative would I be if I were to get bad marks?"

Simeon lets out a small laugh, soft, "That's where I come in, actually."

"Ah," you rub the back of your neck, mindful of the turtleneck you're wearing. You catch Simeon's look at the turtle neck and instantly drop your hand to your side. You wonder if he's noticed the sigil at any point. For all of his silent and amicable personality, Simeon tends to make you feel like he knows more than he let's on. "Sounds nice."

And isn't that funny, you're once again confronted with the fact that everything you grew up learning about demons and angels is heavily twisted. 

"I'll make sure to save you some of the sweets I make, MC!" Luke looks up at you with a beaming smile you're slow to give back.

"Oh, are you going to be making the trip to the House of Lamentation yourself?" You can't help but tease, lowering your voice slightly once the three of you step inside the library. 

Luke clearly hasn't gotten the memo, because he proceeds to raise his voice in disbelief; "For what? so that those demon brothers can torture me?"

Simeon and you cringe at the tone — Simeon going as far as placing his hand on Luke's shoulder to calm him down, while you shoot the other students around an apologetic look. 

Luke's face goes red, and he mutters an apology. "But still, I'll have Luke keep me company, so you won't have to spend the whole week inside trapped with them."

And the sentiment is sweet, really. You can't help the surge of affection that rises up from his words, even if his intentions are misguided. 

"As sweet as that is, I have to remind you that they're actually not bad." You might not fully understand why angels and demons don't exactly get along, even with the history lessons and everything you've been told from both parties — but you do know it feels unfairly bitter to remain quiet when Luke goes on one of his little rants about not trusting demons, even if they have lessened with the passage of time.

You chalk it up to the fact that they're all, much, _much_ older than you are and possibly have reasons for the whole hatred and distrust thing.

But one thing you do know is that if Diavolo's plan does work out, this whole thing? It's soon going to be the norm in all three realms. So the prejudice has got to go.

"You're just biased," Luke mutters under his breath and you promptly decide to ignore him. The look Simeon shoots you is two parts apologetic, and one part in agreement with Luke. 

You don't bother correcting them, since yeah, you _are_ biased. Maybe things would've been different if you had been placed under the angel's care. Alas, things hadn't gone that way.

The three of you walk up the librarian, and while Simeon talks to the demon to sort out the whole book-loaning thing, Luke keeps shooting worried glances at you.

After the third time, you nudge him with your hip. "What's up?"

"You sure you'd rather not spend this week with us?" He sounds like he's about to go off on a tangent explaining why you should go stay with them.

"Uh," you're not really sure where this is coming from. For starters, you'd have to sleep in the couch in Luke's room — they would never even consider the option of letting you share a bed with them, a stark difference to the brothers whom would literally kill each other for the chance to even be in your vicinity — and then you'd also have to go back to your own room to pack up your things. You're pretty sure the plan would fall through right then and there.

You wouldn't put it past the brothers to keep you locked up in the House of Lamentation if they had their way. 

You try not to think too much about that. 

Even then, "Luke I appreciate the offer but I'm fine staying where I've been staying for the last five months." 

"But, MC." Luke whines.

"I've got all four appendages! I'm _fine_ , if they haven't eaten me they won't yet!" You cock your head to the side, "although maybe if we do run out of food."

The joke goes over his head, and even Simeon glances to the side with a vague look of concern. Tough crowd. 

"You stink of them," Luke sounds genuinely upset. 

"Excuse me?" You're frowning, not sure if to feel offended for yourself or for the brothers.

"What Luke is _trying_ to say," Simeon steps in before things can escalate, clearly done with the librarian, "is that he's worried. Humans that purposely get involved with demons, tend to, _ah."_

And that's possibly the first time you've ever seen Simeon at a loss for words. You motion for him to continue.

"Well, taint their souls." Simeon looks bashful when he takes your hands in his, and you can't help the heat that rises up to your cheeks when his blue eyes meet yours. "You have a beautiful soul. Luke is just worried something will happen to you, is all."

Oh. "Okay." You need a break, words aren't your friend right this instant. You've already gotten used to receiving compliments from Beelzebub and Asmodeus with frequency, on the rare occasion from Mammon, but Simeon? An angel telling you your _soul_ is beautiful? It's a lot to unpack really.

Simeon gives you a reassuring squeeze and drops your hands. You can't help but notice how soft his hands feel. 

"I don't think we're the right people to tell you this, however. Lack of actual experience and all."

"Wait, so who _do_ I talk to?" Now that you know there might be someone who can give you answers and not vague half-truths like the brothers have been doing — out of a sense of self-preservation because they don't want you to know just how much power you have over them, or how much power they have over you, you don't know. But you also can't help but sympathize, given the fact that this whole pact thing is clearly important. 

Simeon actually frowns, like he's not sure he's heard you right, but in the end it's Luke that ends up answering your question.

"Solomon of course! If the brothers haven't been honest about how pacts work, then Solomon will help clear up all of your questions." 

Simeon nods, "or you could also ask Lord Diavolo."

So basically the two people you told yourself you would avoid as much as you could in the school year. Perfect.

The idea of speaking to Diavolo about this whole situation and what the repercussions of forming said pacts are is quite frankly, off putting. _Sure_ , he might be all smile and sunshine around you and the brothers, but there's a definite threatening and heavy aura that always clouds his person — and human or not, even you can tell he's not to be messed with. Call it your self-preservation instincts, but the thought of being alone with the demon is scary enough as it is. 

You'd rather be locked up in a room with an angry Lucifer. 

Solomon on the other hand... you just never had the opportunity to bond with him. He keeps to himself most of the time, and whatever bond you might've tried to initiate when you first got here was quickly severed by multiple things. Like say for example:

Lucifer very early warning you to not trust him. 

Solomon's uninterested attitude at befriending the other only human in the whole realm.

And then the whole fact that not once had he sought you out to give you any tips to survive your first month here, you know, like you yourself would've done for a fellow human if you had the years of experience with handling demons and moving through the Devildom.

You have spoken to each other, even if it only happened while you guys were with other people, and there was that brief time you all had been stuck down in that labyrinth — and it _was_ thanks to him that Asmodeus even considered forming a pact with you. So at the end of the day, really, you couldn't just discard him based on Lucifer's single warning, and maybe Mammon's, and then your own bitter thoughts about how selfish he had been to leave you to struggle for the first month.

People aren't all like you. You shouldn't expect them to be, and quite frankly you start to realize that you're sounding a lot like Luke.

As if speaking his name has somehow gotten his attention, your D.D.D device vibrates four times, confused you look at the time and notice that it's still too early for dinner — so it isn't any of the brothers texting you. But instead you find an unknown number reflected on your screen. You swipe open the lockscreen.

**_You know, it's rude to talk about people behind their backs._ **

**_Especially if they're in the same room as you._ **

**_You have questions?_ **

**_It's Solomon, by the way._ **

"It's Solomon," you look up at Simeon and Luke. "He's uh, he's here."

Simeon hums, his eyes scan the surroundings but doesn't spot Solomon. Luke jumps a little, and you can't help but think he _really_ does look like a chihuahua.

"Ah! I forgot, I have an online assignment due soon!" Luke says, sounding too panicked for his own good. Just like that you watch as both angels — after bidding their goodbyes that is — leave the library. You're standing alone. You look at your phone again, and end up adding Solomon to your contacts.

_**where are you?** _

"Does everyone have my phone number..." you can't help but mutter as you leave him on read when he answers, and then promptly head towards his location

Solomon has managed to find a nicely secluded spot about twenty steps away from where the three of you had been previously standing, so now it makes sense that he had heard his name from Luke's mouth from this distance. What you're not expecting to see is the image of him sitting on a couch in a far _too_ _r_ _elaxed_ position — legs spread occupying the couch, a couple of books opened scattered around him and even more on the table.

His cape is missing, and his arms are showing because the turtleneck he always wears? the sleeves have been rolled back.

It's the arms that instantly draw your attention, and you can't help the gasp that leaves your mouth.

 _There's so many,_ it's the first thought that comes to mind when you notice all of the sigils covering both of his arms and then the fact that there's probably a lot more hiding under his clothes. Your second thought is, _well what were you expecting? seventy-two demons._ Then a third, completely out of the blue is, _they look good on him._

It's a completely different thing _knowing_ he's made pacts with an incredible amount of demons, it's another thing seeing the evidence of said pacts on his skin. You feel a little slow, not understand how this whole thing seems new to you — as if you hadn't already known that humans that make pacts with demons get _branded_. Yet here we are.

You staring at Solomon, and Solomon staring right back.

You should talk, "Uh you're not wearing your RAD uniform." Or maybe not. Maybe the semester has finally fried your brain cells, because it certainly is starting to feel like it. 

"Astute observation," he raises a single eyebrow and snaps shut the book he has in hand. He gives you a softer smile when he notices your embarrassment, "my last day of classes was yesterday. I have an extra day to study."

Well, that explains his absence from your classes today. As the only other human, Diavolo had specifically made it so that your schedules were somewhat alike with the exception of maybe two classes. Solomon was a constant figure in your day to day life, but communication, again, was scarce, save for the occasional greeting. 

"I don't want to annoy you then," you begin and can't help but glance at his arms again.

Solomon sits up properly, shakes his head. "You're not bothering me, in fact I was just about to leave."

The way he phrases it makes it sound like he's telling you to wait for him, and it in fact seems to be what he's expecting, because suddenly he's picking up the books and putting them inside his book bag. As he collects his things, you shift on one foot.

There's muted conversations behind the two of you, and the silence in this little area? It's too much for you.

"I actually had a couple questions, regarding pacts." You figure you might as well get to it, no beating around the bush. 

Solomon nods, and when you blink his cape is suddenly on his shoulders. The air smells faintly of something like citrus and electricity. It takes you a moment to remember that he's a _sorcerer._

"I figured, you wouldn't stop looking at my arms." He sounds amused, you feel like punching him in the face.

"Can you blame me though?" You argue, crossing your arms over your chest. Your face feels warm when you decide to be honest, "it's sometimes a little hard to remember you're not exactly human, one-hundred percent."

To your disappointment, the sleeves have been properly fixed and you can no longer see any of the sigils adorning both arms. 

"You're not the first person to say it," Solomon's smile turns sad for a fraction of a second, "although if I'm being quite honest, it's a bit _hurtful_ coming from you."

You frown.

"From another human, that is." he explains.

"Well, it's the truth." You shrug. "But my question..."

"Yes?" He sounds like he's in no hurry, like he's not annoyed by you taking up his time. You aren't sure why, but you were expecting him to be less... _friendly_ with just the two of you alone. 

"Simeon and Luke just mentioned something about, souls? getting tainted, when um. When humans make a pact," you uncross your arms from your chest. "But the thing is I don't know what it means."

Solomon nods, and he opens his mouth to speak but you interrupt him.

"Because you look — you look okay." and _shoot_ was that a rude thing to say? His eyes seem to have lost their previous shine, fuck. "Not that I think it's wrong of you to have that many pacts, unless... unless it is? I don't know."

You bite your bottom lip. Maybe you should've shut up.

Solomon straightens out to his full height, and steps closer to you. The air feels heavy all of the sudden, although it's not an oppressive sort of feel. It's just, tense. 

"Are you worried about your soul, MC?" The softness of his voice doesn't match the look in his eyes, and you can't help but look away. "Don't you think it's a little bit too late."

And fuck, you're not sure if he's even threatening you right now. But your senses, as stubborn as they are, have not told you to run away or increase the distance between the two of you. To be quite frankly, if you're honest with yourself, you're more nervous about the proximity because gorgeous people are just intimidating in their own way. Solomon isn't ugly by anyone's standards.

 _Pull it together,_ you admonish yourself, _Asmodeus wouldn't get so easily flustered by some pretty boy stepping up to his space_. 

You clear your throat and lock eyes with him. "No," your words are but a whisper, measured, "I just figured I'd ask the person with most expertise on the subject. It's not that I'm worried, I just hate not knowing what all of _this_ entails completely."

Solomon's eyes seem to look for something in your face, and he apparently finds it because he steps back. Leaves you enough room to breathe. "I'd be delighted to share my knowledge."

You give him a tiny smile, thankful. 

"We could head back to my room, if you'd like." You're not sure what kind of expression must be showing on your face, because suddenly he looks entertained and there's a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth — you belatedly realize that he's trying not to laugh at you. "Asmodeus and I might be in a pact, but I don't quite share his enthusiasm for exhibitionism."

That has your mouth running dry for reasons you do _not_ want to think about. Instead you focus on the itching curiosity to know just where and how the sigils span across his whole body. 

It occurs to you that you shouldn't accept his invitation — and yet curiosity has always been your downfall.

You open up your messaging app, debating on who you're going to notify of your absence from dinner tonight. Your first thought ends up being Mammon, but then you quickly erase that thought — he'd try to figure out just we're you're headed off to and then decide to invite himself. You think about texting Lucifer, but that too would mean having to explain your absence and you're ninety-nine percent sure he can smell a lie through text. Asmodeus is definitely out of the question too. Levi would check his phone four hours after you sent the message, and Beelzebub is probably busy right now in the kitchen.

You shoot Satan a quick message.

_**i probably wont make it to dinner** _

_**ill be back before bedtime just thought i should let you know** _

The reply comes back instantly. 

_**Alright.** _

Well, that settles that.

"Lead the way then." You can't help but notice the way his eyes crinkle when he gives you a small smile, content with your approval.

It reminds you a lot of the same smiles Lucifer used to give you when you first arrived here.

**+**

The walk towards Purgatory Hall is uneventful. 

When the two of you had left the school's campus you had expected to find one of the brothers around — they always seemed to have a knack for knowing just where exactly you were and popping up when you were having a few minutes alone, much to your displeasure — but five minutes outside as you trailed after Solomon proved to either let you know that they had all headed home early, or were pre-occupied with different things inside the building.

Nonetheless, even though you know the way towards Purgatory Hall from previous outings with Simeon and Luke, you took it upon yourself to walk silently behind Solomon. He had made no indication to show that he wished to start up any conversation, and that... that was _fine._ The silence you could do with, it quite frankly gave you an opportunity to settle whatever thoughts you had about him. 

He doesn't seem like the type to do small talk, for starters. After a brief second of watching his cape flutter softly with the movement of his legs — long, lean — you reshape your thought. _Maybe when he's not going to gain anything out of it,_ he looks like the type.

Your eyes trail up from his legs up towards his hair, mesmerized by the white the white locks seem to faintly glow under the streetlamps of the Devildom. There's something extremely unfair about the fact that everyone around you seems to be extremely gorgeous or extremely powerful, or a combination of both. It's a little hard to not feel, well, _plain_ when compared to everyone else. There's just no way that even in the day-to-day darkness that seems to be the only state of time in the realm, Solomon has somehow managed to remain looking like he's ethereal.

Bitterly, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You bet his hair feels nice, it looks soft.

"Everything okay?" As if hearing your thoughts, Solomon stops briefly and you manage to barely bump into him, too distracted with your thoughts. "I don't think I've ever seen you this quiet."

And well fuck, you have been a little _too_ quiet. It's with great mortification that you realize you've been checking Solomon out, and — when did that happen?

"That's because for once I don't have to fight to have my voice be heard," and it's not like you're lying either. Being around the brothers often meant staying silent for a big portion of their conversations — not because they never listened to you, in fact they're too quick to shut up and pay attention to you when you even open up your mouth, but because they're often too interesting and well you always did love just being a passive observer. 

Solomon's head tilts to the side briefly, makes a small noise that you're starting to realize might mean he's thinking about what you've just said and is agreeing? 

"You know, you could walk besides me."

 _Ah crap_ , even as you nod and move to walk besides him, you can't help but wonder if he could tell you were practically burning holes into his back. 

Surprisingly enough, Solomon decided to actually interrupt the silence that had grown between the two of you by telling you some basic information about pacts. While most of the things he ended up telling you you had already known thanks to some exposure from the brothers themselves, other things proved to be new — like his knowledge on who the first human to ever have made a pact with a demon was, the reasoning behind these things, what a demon could gain from these exchanges, among other things.

You were so enraptured by the information, and his voice, that you didn't even realize when the two of you had managed to make it to Purgatory Hall. 

"This is it, don't mind the mess." Solomon gave you a sheepish smile and you can't help but give him one back. 

"I live with seven demons, I don't think what you consider a mess would compare to Mammon's room." 

Solomon doesn't say anything to that, but proceeds to open up the door to his room. He motions for you to step inside, and after a second of hesitation you step in.

You don't know what you were expecting, but the room before you looks identical to Luke's. You can't help but wonder why there's such a lack of personal-touch to the rooms in Purgatory Hall, although if you really think about it all four of you are here as exchange students for the year. Despite the fact that Solomon has, apparently, been in the Devildom countless times before, it must've not likely been as a student — and even then, he doesn't seem like the type to hole up somewhere for long periods of time. 

Despite this, you can't help but feel like the room feels impersonal. At first glance, there's nothing really that you could perhaps call a personal object, nothing that screams that someone with interests and hobbies lives in this room. For all you know, Solomon probably only sleeps here because the room's been already provided. Your eyes trail to the side where a bookshelf sits, and _that_ actually proves more interesting.

The disappointment must show on your face because Solomon actually ends up laughing. "Sorry to disappoint, if I had known I would have visitors I would've enchanted some books to float around in order to impress you." 

He walks around you, taking off his cape in the process, until he stands in front of you. He makes no comment on the fact that you're awkwardly standing in the middle of his room, and holds out his hand. It occurs to you that he's asking for your uniform jacket. 

He's nothing but patient as you fumble with the buttons on your uniform, and doesn't say anything when you shove the piece at him. Now that the two of you are completely alone again, and nonetheless in his room, you can't help but think back to the fact that this is the first time the two of you have ever been alone. 

You mentally slap yourself. _Stop acting so weird,_ god you almost feel like you're twelve again and sneaking into a boy's room. 

"You mentioned that Luke and Simeon told you about souls being tainted?" Solomon is nothing but casual as he sets your uniform jacket on the only chair facing his personal desk. He offers you no indication of asking you to sit down anywhere, so you're stuck standing up in the middle of his room trying to figure out if watching him put away his cape in his closet, bending down to undo his shoes laces — where you very pointedly _do not_ look at his behind because the men here have a thing apparently for clothes that fit them like a glove — and then opening up his closet to hang up his cape.

Your eyes trail elsewhere when he closes shut the closet door. "Actually, Luke said I smelled bad."

And fine, maybe it wasn't with those exact same words — but the way he said it might as well have been the same thing.

"Well," Solomon hesitates for a second and it's this that has you looking his way. His grey eyes scan the room in search of something, and it comes to mind that maybe he just realized his situation with the whole seating arrangement. You wonder if he never gets any visitors. "Luke has always been honest about his opinions, it's charming."

The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. _Surely_ he has to have people come over, maybe even Simeon?

You raise an eyebrow, "so you find it charming that he told me I stink?"

"It's not a lie, to an angel at least. They've been doing a good job out of ignoring it with you however," The smile he shoots your way is a little self-deprecating.

There's probably a lot more that he wants to add to that comment, but he doesn't say anything so you figure you shouldn't pry into it either — after all, you're only here to satiate your knowledge. Chances of this ever happening again are slim to none, Solomon just doesn't seem the type to ask you out for anything, really. He seems out of his element, still standing up right in front of you, his hands are hovering to his side awkwardly — like he doesn't know what to do with them — and his eyes keep darting from you, to some other place in the room, before going back to you. It's small little things, things you probably wouldn't have caught at any other instance.

The problem is that you're not offered much choice in the situation, it's not like there's anything else to look at. 

"I'll just—" you motion vaguely to the chair near his desk and Solomon actually jumps in spot before hurrying to pull it out, he moves it so that the chair is facing his bed. 

"— _right!_ Sorry, I just." He snaps his mouth shut when he sees the look on your face, his grey eyes look somewhere else. He motions for you to sit down. His ears are red. "I don't get visitors."

Well, that settles _that_ question.

You give him a small thanks, not sure what to make of the gesture. His hands remain on the chair for a couple of seconds, and you silently give him the time to compose himself. Once he does, and moves to sit down on his bed, you take the chair, drop your bag on the side and cross your legs. 

You're not sure what it is about Solomon sitting down on his neatly made bed, turtleneck, pants, and socks still on and no shoes, that has you feeling so awkward. He's already such a quiet person, only speaking up when people need answers to questions, or when he just wants to be a smartass — not, that you've ever been on the receiving end of such comments, but you've seen it before. It might be the fact that it's after school hours, that you're in his bedroom. 

Maybe it's just as simple as the fact that you two have never really had such a prolonged conversation before. You don't doubt for a second that he knows you were warned against getting too friendly with him.

"Is it like an actual smell though?" You decided that maybe thinking too hard about all of this is what's making the air feel so tense and awkward. "I've never heard any of the brothers complain— Asmo would've definitely said something."

Solomon shakes his head, "It's not a scent that humans are able to pick up. Ah, think of it as a layer of protection that engulfs your soul. Every time you make a pact with a demon it essentially means that you're under their protection — it's always a two-way street with pacts, they own a part of your soul in exchange for their powers. Of course since they own a part of your soul it means that they'll make sure nothing happens to you. Demons are possessive creatures at their core."

You can't help the hand that goes up to your chest, above your heart. "So if humans can't smell it, then only angels and demons can?"

He nods, "Yes. Although from what I've gathered it's not an unpleasant smell for demons — not that I'd think otherwise, they're very clearly marking you as theirs to other demons."

"So if I've already made pacts with some of the brothers," you feel like letting him know who else you've made pacts with is too personal, a selfish need to keep that information to yourself, "that means that I have a combination of their... smells, on my soul?"

"Yes."

"I guess that means you're untouchable," you can't help but point out. "You know what they call you, around the school? _King_ Solomon. I guess I never really understood why— but now I know."

Solomon actually _laughs_ at that, it's bitter sounding and not at all funny. You can't help but purse your lips. 

"I haven't heard that nickname in years," there's a faraway look to his eyes that makes him look older than he presents. Not for the first time, you wonder just how old exactly the sorcerer is. "But yes, you could say that."

"They might not look like it, but Simeon and Luke aren't exactly _thrilled_ with having me here in Purgatory Hall, after all, if the smell your soul carries with only a few pacts is enough to upset Luke, then I figure mine must be unbearable to stand." After a few seconds of thought, he tilts his head to the side and brings a fist up to his chin. 

You don't have the heart to tell him that it's because Luke _cares_ and has, somehow, become attached to you to the point where he's made quite a few _concerning_ comments related to your mortality and how it's unfair that you're human. 

Solomon snaps you out of your thoughts when he calls your name, "Do you think I might still have a soul left to give?"

His voice comes out flat, and suddenly there's a tension to the air that wasn't present before. You can't help the goosebumps that arise on your skin, the tie around your neck becoming suffocating by the second. His grey eyes, usually bright and lively, seem to have dulled — a somberness to them that makes you think, _danger._

And despite that, you can't help but lean forward on the chair, elbows on your thighs, you cradle your head in between your hands. Your posture spells, _you can't scare me_. "I've only heard rumors, for all I know you have maybe twenty pacts, there has to be _some_ soul left."

Solomon smirks, it reminds you an awful lot of Asmodeus when he's caught his prey of the night, "That may be the case, but compared to you, trying to find any unclaimed part of my soul is like trying to find a needle in a haystack." 

You take a deep breath, well then, you two are already here. "I wouldn't know. It's not like I've seen the sigils on your body."

"We _did_ come for that," he agrees, and then he proceeds to take off his turtleneck. For some reason, watching the sorcerer take off his top isn't as embarrassing as you thought it might be. Sure, you looked away the second he began to pull it over his head but then you caught sight of the sigils and the _writing_ and—

" _Wow,"_ You can't help the awe in your voice, "there's so _many_."

Solomon doesn't seem to mind stripping in front of you as he shows no sign of being either uncomfortable or embarrassed under your staring. He simply sets the black turtleneck to the side, and you catch yourself watching the way his muscles shift when he moves to lean back a little. He's not all muscle as you expected him to be, his shoulders are wider than his waist, but there's not a doubt that he takes care of himself.

"So I've been told." He gives you a small smile. "Any more questions?"

"Yes, can I touch?" Is what you think, except it comes out of your mouth without your permission and now you're embarrassed. You stand up, face heating up. You open your mouth to apologize but then decide to snap it shut, a part of you thinks, well, this can't get any more embarrassing. Might as well stick with it.

Worse comes to worse and you'll come out with your pride hurt, not that it'll matter tomorrow anyways.

Solomon's eyebrows raise in clear surprise, and you're already preparing yourself for the refusal when he clears his throat and looks to the side. "Sure. Not that it'd make any difference, but you're more than welcome to do so." 

"Okay," you breathe out, aware of the way you can hear your heart pumping in your ears. "Okay, I'm going to—" and fuck, _why_ are you so nervous? "—I'm going to touch you now."

"Go ahead," Solomon's voice is soft, he looks like he's enjoying watching you get all flustered over this. A part of you can't help but think that maybe he's expecting you chicken out. This is what drives you to fully leave the comfort of the chair — a measly eight feet away from the bed — and up to the bed. 

Two things suddenly become clear.

First: You can't exactly take a closer look from your current standing position. Solomon's bed isn't short at all, but he's still sitting down and looking up at you, and all you can really see is the fact that the tattoos — you've given up on referring to them as sigils or marks, for now, because that's what they look like, _tattoos_ — actually continue past his shoulders and well into his back. If you leaned forward to take a closer look at them, you're not sure you'd be able to trust your balance in maintaining you firm enough to not stumble forward, and then there's also the fact that you'd be uncomfortably close to his face.

Second: the other only option that you can possibly see working out without it being _too_ awkward is kneeling in between his legs. The bed's height is perfect enough that you won't feel like you're staring right at his crotch, and also it's not like there's going to be anything sexual going on. It's just... studying what's up with Solomon's pacts. 

_Yeah,_ you silently encourage yourself, _th_ _ere's nothing sexual about this._ And yet when you move to stand in between his legs and kneel down on the floor, going from having a view of the top of his head to staring directly at his stomach, you can't help but feel like it totally is and Asmodeus would have a field day with the current picture. You place both hands on each thighs.

(You can already hear him say something about his _two favorite humans playing together_ ).

Seeing you on your knees has Solomon sitting up properly — you ignore the way his legs suddenly seem to close in a little bit too much around your body, _a reflex,_ you tell yourself. His eyes are wide and there's a hint of panic in his voice when he opens up his mouth, "MC—"

"—Shut up." You smack his thigh, feeling equal parts annoyed and embarrassed. Your eyes firmly locked on his, now closer, chest. You really can't look him in the face right now. "Don't make this weird."

Solomon mutters something, too low for you to hear, before he sighs. You note that it comes out shaky. "Alright."

Instantly his body relaxes slightly, but the coiled-tension is still present. You're a bit annoyed, but decide to ignore it. You'll take what you can get. This might not be as bad if you just don't make eye-contact, after all, all you want to do is get a closer look at the tattoos and the writing that spans across his body.

"I'm going to place my hands on your body now," your voice comes out surprisingly soft. A beat of silence goes by before you hear Solomon's breathy consent. 

Hands leaving their position on his knees, you move them to place them on either side of his hips. Your thumbs dipping into his pelvis, but moving no further than that. Solomon's body tenses under you and a sharp gasp leaves his mouth. 

You instantly flinch back, afraid that you might've hurt him — even though you only placed your hands on him for less than a second — and suddenly you can't help but look up at him. You manage to bite down the noise of surprise that threatened to spill out, when you meet grey eyes looking at you. You realize he's been watching you.

One of his hands comes to grab your wrist and guides it back to his waist, not breaking eye contact despite the faint blush dusting his face, Solomon clears his throat. 

"Your hands are cold, they caught me off-guard," he sounds apologetic. 

"O-oh," you sit back on your thighs. "Sorry." 

Solomon doesn't say anything, just keeps on staring. You don't know how to feel about him looking at you. Embarrassed? well, considering your current position — and there went any thought of not turning this sexual, good job brain — you really can't be blamed. You mentally count to three, ready to properly begin your examination. 

Except—

"Uh, Solomon."

"Yes?"

"Could you please let go of my wrist?"

"Ah, of course." God, you kind of want to roll your eyes at him. He's making this far more embarrassing that it needs to just by himself. 

After he's let go of your wrists you carefully move to position your hands in their original position. You sneak a glance his way, he doesn't seem like he's going to run away from you again at least. 

The sigil on his chest seems to be the biggest one you can see from the front, and their sizes differ in accordance to their location on his body. The tattoos on his shoulders, running down the length of his arms go from increasingly big to smaller as more and more sigils seem to occupy his pale skin. There's what seems to be passages written across his body in the forms of circles, and as your thumb swipes along one of the circles you come to realize that it's not in English.

"It's Hebrew," he explains, when he notices you trying to decipher the language. "I could read it for you if you'd like."

You shake your head slightly, biting the inside of your cheek. It's not like you're trying to speed-run through the whole process, but it's also not like you can just spend the whole night here. You don't even want to think about what the brothers would do if you didn't make it back home. 

"Maybe another time," you even surprise yourself with this. You break away from the writing to look up at Solomon, his face conveys both a look of distrust but also surprise. To your immense relief, he doesn't say anything. You look back down at his body, and continue tracing the writing with your thumbs up his body.

The first sigil comes into your attention.

As you move your hand up towards the triangle, you trace the lines of it from corner to corner. There's a sun in the middle, and it looks different than all the other sigils on his body. You question him about it.

"Ah, that's actually not a pact mark." He sounds sheepish when he answers, you look up to find him looking away. "That's a called a __Goetia__ , and it's often accompanied by a matching circle. They're symbols for summoning demons. Although the practice isn't as relevant as it was once upon a time."

"So, what? You got it tattooed just because?"

Under your hands, you feel his stomach clench briefly. "Yes."

You blink at the symbol, and can't help but softly laugh under your breath. For some reason the thought of him getting a tattoo of something that doesn't really do anything at all — given that apparently summoning demons is an old practice — just to match the aesthetic of his body makes him seem a lot more human than before. 

If Solomon notices your laughter, he makes no comment of it. 

You lick your lips and proceed to continue your ministrations. The biggest piece you can see for now happens to be the one smack-dab in the middle of his chest. One hand remains on his hip, while the other trails across the expanse of skin presented, following the track of the larger circle until you've done a complete 360 of it. As you try to take in the details, it's easy to forget that it's Solomon's _body_ you're touching, and that you can feel the way his chest expands when he inhales and exhales, the way you could feel his heart beating at an irregular pace when your hand strayed far too close to his chest. You press your hand to the bigger symbol, and feel a wave of _something_ hitting your chest when you notice the way Solomon's body shudders under your touch.

Without waiting for you, he speaks.

" _Sigillum Dei Aemeth,"_ are you imagining things or does his voice sound deeper? "Think of it as my fail-safe."

You look up at him. 

He shakes his head. He doesn't want to explain. 

Well, apparently that's all you're going to get out of this. Much to your ever-lasting chagrin, you come to the realization that your current position on the floor does not allow you a clear view of the sigils on his shoulders and the top of his arms. It's not like you have a set way of doing this, but even if you did start from his hands and work your way up, you'd still have to get up there somehow. 

You throw that part of your brain call reason to the side. You don't even give Solomon any warning about what you're going to do — afraid of being pushed away.

You stand up from your place on the floor, one hand moving to grab onto his shoulder as you move to sit down on his lap. For once, thankful that you were given the option to wear a skirt or pants with your uniform, as you move to play both legs on each side of his own thighs. Your position on his lap means that you have to hold on to his shoulder in order to not fall back.

You steal a glance at his face.

Solomon's face is completely shocked, and it might be the first time you've seen his composure completely slip. His eyes go from looking at the little amount of space between the two of you were you've made a home of yourself in his lap, up towards your face, matching his in heat from embarrassment. You shift a little and quickly stop when a small noise comes from the back of Solomon's throat. 

It feels like your whole face is on fire.

"Is... is this okay?" You break the silence, cringing inwardly at how pathetic your voice sounds.

Solomon blinks, like he's been snapped out of a daze. His grey eyes dulled, you realize he's breathing slower than before. His hands, hovering to either side of you, tentatively move to settle themselves on your waist. His head dips enough that his bangs cover part of his eyes. The affirmation he gives you is so soft that you would've missed it under the beating of your own heart, but then Solomon looks up at you again, and repeats a little bit louder; "Yes. This is fine."

You nod, ignore the way Solomon's eyes track the movement of your throat as you swallow. Placing both hands on his shoulders under the excuse to keep yourself from falling backwards is weak at best — Solomon's warm, _strong_ grip on your waist already doing a pretty good job.

And the thing is, even as you move to examine the sigils on the right side of his shoulder and receiving an answer with a name you don't recognize, you can't fool yourself into thinking that you're actually paying attention. Your brain is currently divided between thinking about how warm and comfortable his hands are, and about the fact that you're on his lap willingly. 

It occurs to you that you haven't even caved in this far with any of the brothers. You've kissed them a couple of times, and usually cuddles were the extent of body contact between all of you but — _but_ there was clear attraction there. The parties involved knew of the potential attraction, Solomon on the other hand...

Maybe you're reading too much into it.

At some point, you've realized that you've gone from asking and touching, to simply touching. You carefully explore the expanse of skin on his arm, feeling the way his muscles flex under your touch.

At some point, Solomon stopped speaking, and while you were too distracted looking at your hand moving across his arm, his eyes remained steadfastly on you. 

Solomon calls your name.

You're not sure who does it first, but in the seconds between you turning to look straight on at Solomon and finding his face suddenly closer to yours, feeling his warm breath on your face, and his grey eyes on your lips, someone closes the distance.

It's a gentle brush of lips at first, doesn't last more than a second before Solomon pulls back an inch. His eyes are half-lidded, and your breathing combined seem to be the only source of noise in the whole room. His grip on your waist tightens briefly. When he looks at you, there's something heady in his gaze. 

"Okay?" His voice is so airy, so _soft_. 

And _oh._ You don't know why the single fact that he's giving you the option to back-out is making you feel dizzy, making your chest feel tight. 

"Yes." And then before he has the chance to inquire again, you close the gap between the two of you. Your attention shifts to a single point, the touch of his lips against yours. With your eyes closed, it's a bit difficult to know if he's looking at you, what his reaction might be. It's not anything amazing, as far as kissing goes. It's quite tame actually, he keeps pulling back just the barest amount of space before diving in to press quick pecks on your lips, and yet the whole thing has your chest feeling tight and dizzy with what you're starting to realize is excitement.

Solomon is taking his time, you realize, and the thought of him doing so has you feeling like you've achieved something great here — although you're not quite sure what it is. All you can think about is that you wouldn't mind staying like this, letting him trail his soft lips all over your face in an oddly intimate show of affection. The way one of his hands is drawing circles on your lower back, comforting and lulling enough that maybe, just _maybe_ you could fall asleep like this. 

...but then — Solomon's hold on your waist tightens momentarily, pulls you closer and presses his lips a bit harder against yours. You can't help the small gasp that leaves your mouth, and he seems to be spurred on by the sound, his actions go from tentative to sure. You feel him shift his face to the side, his nose bumping yours softly.

Solomon fits his lower lip against your own before biting gently, the hand on your lower back pressing a tad impatiently to edge you forward, like he _can't_ wait to have you closer even though you know it's physically impossible. 

While it is impossible to practically melt into him, you do end up placing both arms over his shoulders and pressing yourself just the tiniest bit closer to him. Solomon's head tilts back slightly to accommodate the new angle as you find yourself moving one hand to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. You pull back slightly and Solomon's lips chase after you, a hint of tongue at your lips that has you opening them up just the slightest amount.

It's enough for Solomon to take advantage of the fact, and the way he moves almost seems greedy. 

Unconscionably, you end up tugging the strands in between your fingers when his tongue maps the top of your mouth. Solomon's body does a full body shiver and a small noise that almost gets swallowed up by your own, little pants, is enough to have you repeat the action. This time, Solomon pulls away from you just enough to see the flush on his face.

You can't help but notice the way his eyelashes softly brush against his face.

Not for the first time, you're hit with the thought that he's too pretty for his own good. 

" _Fuck_ ," it's a breathy whine against your lips that ignites a fire inside of you, Solomon doesn't even give you the time to look more at his face before he buries it in the crook of your neck. There's slight tremors running down his body, the hand on the small of your back has gone back to tracing patterns. The room is so warm, the long-sleeved shirt sticking to your skin is certain places, and despite that you're content to stay like this for a little longer.

With your proximity, you can almost imagine that Solomon's heart must be beating as heavy and fast as yours. His body is warm enough that it's easy to forget that you're sitting on his lap, that the two of you just made out. Only the heavy blush on your face, the way your lips tingle with the intensity he showed in the last minute, evidence enough to suggest that this actually happened.

Solomon murmurs something against your neck, and the feeling of his lips against your throat, just shy of meeting your shirt's collar has you shifting in your spot. Solomon groans softly, his hips canting up and —

Oh.

_Oh._

Because you hadn't noticed _that._ Too busy focusing on the feel of his hands, the thoughts of kissing him again clouding your mind, trying to push away that sliver of anxiety lurking deep inside your mind telling you that maybe this isn't a good idea, you don't know him you don't know him you don't— 

Tentatively, you grind back a little, spurred on by the sounds he's making. You can't help the breathy sigh of pleasure that escapes your lips when the pressure of Solomon's hard-on against your clothed-sex. Solomon swears and —

Before you know it, the world shifts, and you find yourself bouncing back on the soft bed. You catch a waft of something like lavender and sulfur coming from the sheets — belatedly you realize that he had _flipped_ you, one hand holding on to both of your wrists above your head and pinning you with a strength you didn’t know he possessed. You look up at Solomon, staring right at grey eyes. 

His pupils dilated, and the heavy flush on his pale skin the only indications of the noises he had been making before. His eyes rake your figure beneath him, and a knee makes itself comfortable in between your legs, pressing into your heat — the uniform’s pants suddenly feeling too thin for the situation.

“You're such a tease,” he sounds upset, for some reason you can't quite figure out.

"You kissed me first," you watch as his eyes dart down to your lips, the way the look in his eyes turn to something like hunger. It has your lower body squirming, and then unconsciously grinding yourself against his leg against your cunt, the pant's fabrics feeling a little too thin and a bit too thick right now. "At least, I think you did."

"Yet you didn't push away," The hand gripping your wrist gives a significant squeeze, a _leave them there_ that goes unspoken, and then he removes it, cups your face with that hand, his thumb brushing against your lips. Boldly, you take the chance to suck on his thumb, the mortification of your action paling in comparison to the pure, open lust that clouds his face.

When Solomon pulls his thumb away, a string of saliva is the only thing connecting the two of you. 

Solomon calls your name, a shaky breath leaves your lungs. Maybe it's the heat of the moment, but his name on your lips sounds so right. "You're sure?"

For a second, your brain is trying to catch up with the meaning of his words. You're too focused on the sigils that you were getting familiar with, focused on the feeling of his leg against your cunt, the slickness between your legs. For some reason, you're not quite sure what he means, and you wreck your brain trying to remember if he had asked you a question, but then it hits you.

You're not sure if it's possible for your brain to overheat and malfunction, but the implication behind his words has your mouth feeling particularly dry all of the sudden. And yet there's a part of you that thinks, _yes._

"I am," now that you say it aloud it feels like whatever was weighing down your chest seems to have had lifted. The realization that yes, you're okay with _this_ is more than fine, it's normal. There should be no reason for you feel scared or cornered. It comes to mind that this is the first time in the last five months were you've been able to make a decision that isn't spurred on by the necessity to make it. Solomon is giving you an option to opt out, to say you don't want to continue.

The thought is enough for your eyes to began to water, and if Solomon notices — which you think he might just have, what's with the way his lips quirk down at the sides, brows furrowing just slightly — you don't give him the time to answer. "Are you?"

Solomon props both his arms on either side of you, effectively caging you in. You can't help but stare at his eyes as he leans down to give you a soft kiss, pulling away to plant a kiss on the corner of your lips and trailing down your neck with kisses, nipping at the skin every now and then. "Yes," he murmurs against your skin. You close your eyes, mewling softly when he plants a particularly hard bite against your the side of your neck. 

You're so distracted with his ministrations, with trying to stop yourself — and miserably failing — from grinding back into his leg, still firmly planted on your leg, and trying not to squirm and press up into him, that you don't realize the smell in the air has changed, the barest traces of static around the two of you until you feel cold air hit your chest.

Your eyes snap open just in time to see the pale blue tie from your uniform slither from in between the two of you, a faint glow surrounding it, before it disappears somewhere off to the side, outside your field of view. There's a moment of confusion, your brain trying to assimilate the fact that Solomon's _hands_ are on your body and yet you can feel some tugging coming from the buttons of your shirt. When the first two pop open and Solomon takes the opportunity to dive further down your body, you can't help but giggle.

It comes out nervous enough that Solomon stops, looks up to meet your eyes questioning.

"Ha, show off." You can't help but tease him, the thought of him using his powers to do something as simple as unbuttoning your shirt is — it takes your mind away from the nerves that have been steadily building up inside of you. 

"I've no idea about what you mean," the satisfied smile on his lips is accompanied by a single kiss on your chest. His eyes flicker to your chest, and he inhales softly. "Well then, seems I'm not the only one that's been busy."

Your heart skips a beat when you realize that he's looking at the beginning of Satan's pact mark. Your chest feels heavy, and a flicker of uncertainty passes through you. The idea of Solomon undressing you and laying his eyes on the sigils on your body seems oddly personal. "Um, Solomon."

Because he keeps staring at it like it's the only thing in the room right now, a sense of hunger that isn't directed at you and spells nothing of the sweetness he was bestowing upon you. This is close to envy, you realize. When he doesn't respond, and you feel something like static against your skin, you realize he's planning on undoing the rest of the buttons.

You whine, annoyed, and run your fingers through his hair before pulling him back slightly. His grey eyes snap back to yours. "Hm?"

"I'm not going to take my shirt off," your voice comes surprisingly steady, and you're bracing yourself for Solomon's discontentment with your request, but instead you feel the tugging at your shirt from his magic slowly fizzle out.

If he seems disappointed, he makes sure to not show it. He gives the mark one last look before he places a kiss right on top of it. "Will this apply to anything else?"

"Like?"

"I'd like to eat you out," he simply states, watching with vague amusement the look of mortification that crosses your face because _wow_ , you weren't expecting that. "Can't do it if your pants are in the way."

"Okay," your voice comes out strained, you untangle your arms from around him to allow him to move further back from the bed. You can't help the way your hips cant up when his leg brushes against your cunt again, but the sensation is fleeting. Solomon wastes no time in undoing your pants, and when he successfully gets them off your legs, you can't help the tinge of nervousness that comes back.

You're _very_ aware of how wet you are down there, and the ridiculously thought that comes to mind is that you're glad you decided to wear your nicest pair of underwear today. Solomon seems to like them at least, because when you dare to sneak a look at him — instead of staring at the ceiling like you've been doing ever since he told you he wanted to do _this —_ he looks pleased. 

It's a bit empowering, you think, to know that he finds you attractive.

Solomon's hands are warm as he gently urges your legs apart, fingers trailing from your knee up until your thigh, his fingers trace Beelzebub's sigil on your inner thigh and you can't help but whimper at the sensation. He pinches the area softly, earning a gasp from you. "You're sensitive," he notes.

And before you have a chance to say anything, his free hand moves to cup your crotch, two fingers pressing slightly into the panties. Whatever you were going to say gets swallowed up by the need to push against his fingers, seeking more friction than what he's currently giving you.

"Solomon," his name comes from your mouth like a plea, and you could almost cry of happiness when he uses the pad of his fingers to rub them up and down, spreading your slick all over the material. 

"Yes?" 

"Stop, _ah_ — stop teasing."

Even without looking at him, you can tell he looks smug, satisfied with himself. It's in the way he says; "You make it so easy," before he finally relents and the bed dips with his movement. Solomon slides your underwear off and in a swift motion presses a single kiss to your inner thigh. His face remains so close to your cunt that even the little puffs of hot air has you over-sensitive.

Solomon whispers your name once, and you trail your gaze from the ceiling down to him. You lock eyes for barely a second before he moves closer to you and without any more warning, begins to lap at your slit. You can't help the drawn out moan that leaves your lips as Solomon begins to fully devote himself to the task. 

At some point between him sucking and softly biting, thumbing at your clit in circular motions, your hands have found themselves a new home on his head, urging him closer and closer to you. Pulling on his hair when his tongue begins to move in and out of you, the other hand rubbing circles on your inner thigh. The combination of his ministrations and the little hums that vibrate against your lips has a tension you're well accustomed to beginning to coil low in your gut.

Solomon's thumb applies a little too much pressure on your clit, hurting in a way that has your toes curling, your body singing. You're not aware of the way your hips buck up, only when Solomon's hand on your thighs moves to pin you back down to the bed by pushing on your hip. 

" _A-ah_ , I'm going to—" you cut yourself off with a whine, Solomon's tongue leaving your heat but using the pad of his finger to stimulate your clit. Looking at him like this, it hurts your neck a little, but the sight of your arousal around his lips is enough to send another wave of pleasure down your spine.

"Mmh," Solomon hums and pulls away, sounding far too pleased with himself. Whatever small respite you have from his mouth leaving your aching core is quickly replaced by him inserting two fingers and curling them, the process easy with how wet you are. "Don't stop on my account." 

His actions begin to increase in speed, and you're very aware of the way his attention is focused solely on your face, like he wants to enjoy watching you come apart under his fingers. Solomon does something with his wrist then, and the pad of his fingers brush a specific spot inside of you that has you outright screaming.

" _Fuck,"_ It's drawled out and quite frankly, obscene sounding, but Solomon wastes no time in hitting that bundle of nerves over and over again until—

Your orgasm crashes over you, and you grip the bed-sheets under you as you cant your hips upwards, chasing the last remnants of your orgasm. Solomon gives you no time to rest as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, and it's _nice_ but also a bit overwhelming, feeling too sensitive from everything. As if reading your thoughts, he finally removes his fingers from inside of you and you can't help the whine that comes from feeling suddenly empty.

Distantly you can hear the sound of a zipper being undone, and you manage to find enough energy to sit up a little bit, using your arms to hold you up. Your eyes instantly zoom in on the newly revealed amount of skin, Solomon has ditched the pants and the underwear, and you're able to see a lot more writing and sigils spanning down the length of his body. Your eyes snap back up this dick, curving nicely upwards, a bead of precum at the tip of his head that has you licking your lips.

It's a nice dick, you can't help but think. Solomon gives a small laugh, "thank you."

"Oh god, I said that out loud didn't I?" You bring a hand to your face, covering your eyes. "Just, sorry—"

"—You don't have to be—"

"—I can't properly think, I'm honestly surprised we're even here—

"—perfectly normal, it's cute, actually." Solomon's voice sounds strained, and you can't help but peek in between your fingers to see him pumping his dick with steady and measured strokes. 

You take a shaking breath, because you really, _really_ want him inside of you.

"Solomon," you lay back down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, and with one hand beckon him closer. 

"MC," he copies, but does end up leaning over you, still too far away that you're not able to feel his dick anywhere close to you.

"Are you going to," you swallow, "fuck me?"

Solomon is silent for a second, his voice comes out soft and open, "only if you want me to."

"I'd like that." 

"Good," he cups your chin with one hand, makes you look at him. "I'd like that as well too."

And then he's bringing his hips closer to you, and you can feel his erection sliding against your outer lips. Solomon seems quite content in rutting against you for the time being, and you're too focused on the feeling of his cock against your lips, that you can't exactly complain.

"MC, look at me." It's possibly the first time his voice sounds so commanding, and it takes you a second to realize you looked away. 

You shake your head. 

He's deliberately teasing you now, you're sure of it. His gaze on your face, your reactions, as he slides the length of his dick against the lips of your cunt, but not making any effort into guiding his dick inside of you. You can't help but whine, turning your face to the side you mutter something.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"...areful."

"You have a lovely voice, don't tell me you're shy _now_."

"I said," you raise your voice a little, "to be careful. I've never... I've never done this before." And it's not like you're embarrassed over the fact, everyone at some point has to have their first time, you're just scared of him potentially hurting you. Although, with the way you can feel your slickness between your thighs, chances are that you're more than prepared to have something bigger than his fingers inside of you.

Solomon goes quiet for what seems like an eternity, and his teasing suddenly stops. His dick barely brushing against your heat. 

"Oh," It leaves his mouth sounding far more breathless than he should, and you can see the minute your words actually process in his mind because something in the way he looks at you changes. " _Oh_."

"Don't make fun of me," You can't help the bitterness that seeps through your voice, "it's not a big deal. Don't make it so."

"I'm not." The intensity in his tone has you squirming a bit, regretting your decision to remain with your shirt still one given the fact that Solomon is completely naked in front of you and you've forgone the pants and underwear. "It's just, you've placed your trust so fast on me — it's a little hard to not take advantage, is all."

And yet despite the suspicious words, he's nothing but gentle as he guides the head of his cock into your entrance. There's a bead of sweat running down his body that you want to lick but can't, because Solomon's breathing is too heavy and mimicking yours.

His body leans forwards, with his arms angling your hips to elevate them a little easier and the process makes another inch of his cock make it's way inside of you. The feeling of something big, bigger than anything you've ever used on yourself, is overwhelming but not unwelcome.

You find your hands wrapping around his neck, closing your eyes, and pulling him closer to you.

Solomon bottoms out with a swift push of his hips, and you can't help the moan that escapes your lips — high and needy, so completely foreign to you that you can't believe the sound actually came from you.

Solomon's hips twitch and he wastes no time in leaning completely forward towards you, his face coming close to your neck and placing a soft kiss. "You're really tight,"

You breath in, can't help but clench around his length, receiving in return another groan. 

"I'm going to move now," his words are sweet and like promised, he pulls back until you can feel the head of his cock slip just barely outside your cunt before he slams his hips forward. The action is rougher than expected. Your arms find themselves around his neck, bringing him even closer as you feel your back arch, the sensation is not entirely unpleasant.

Solomon nips at the space between your shoulder and neck before setting a steady pace, his strokes deep and hard. With one hand on your waist, running up and down underneath your uniform shirt and the other under your body, holding it ever so slightly so that he can easily thrust into you, it's easy to loser yourself into the sensation of being filled. 

Your hands keep running across any expanse of skin they can reach from his back, your thighs squeezing around him as a particular harsh trust knocks the air out of you. The room is filled with your moans, the indecent sound of his hips snapping against you, and Solomon's grunts and pants.

You're not expecting him to be the talkative type, so when he speaks you almost manage to miss it.

"You feel so good," he raises his head from your shoulder and the sight of his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat leaves you breathless.

"Thank you?" and well, you can't help but grimace at that, your brain-to-mouth filter completely offline. Solomon laughs softly, places a kiss against your lips before drawing back again and staring at your face.

You can't help but look away, embarrassment prickling under your skin. "W-what?"

"Nothing," he ducks to place another kiss on your jaw, reveling in the way your breath stutters and you moan softly when he shifts his angle just slightly before rocking his hips, "just thinking about how nice it's seeing you like this."

And that manages to somehow make you even more embarrassed.

God you wished he would say anything else other than all of this praise, it's not inherently bad — you're just not sure what to do with the emotions that his words seem to cause inside of you. 

Soon, you're only able to focus on the snap of his hips against you. His thrusts grow uncoordinated as he begins to chase his own pleasure, and your orgasm surprises you once more. With a drawn out moan of his name, Solomon curses when your pussy tightens around his dick and with another thrust of his dick, he ends up burying himself deep in you. You feel him spill inside of you, and the way your name falls against your skin as he repeats it over and over again feels awfully personal.

It almost feels like he's worshiping you.

Solomon stays plastered to you for what seems like an eternity, and you're surprised when he snaps his hips forward again. There's a hiss of sensitivity that escapes from his lips, and when you question him about it, he lifts up his head to give you a look that has you reeling from the possessiveness of it.

"Done? No, I don't think so." He rocks his hips slowly, and you're aware of the fact that his come is beginning to spill out with his movements, the sound is indecent and he's half-hard. "I may not be a be a demon, but there's not a single part of me that won't take everything you're willing to give to me."

It sounds a lot like you're playing with fire, and once again you can't help but think there's something dangerous about Solomon. It's that little amount of uncertainty that has you drawn to him.

"Everything," you breathe out. You come to realize that he's too good at getting what he wants, especially since you can't seem to help yourself but give in to his wishes, "everything you're willing to take."

The smile he gives you is anything but sweet. 

**+**

It's a message from your D.D.D that wakes you up. 

Solomon's arm is wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him as his body molds into your back. His soft breathing is warm against your neck, and it almost makes you want to go back to sleep. His room is cold enough that he proves to be the only heat source available, and the temptation to ignore everything and fall back to sleep against him is so difficult to ignore. But then another alert from your phone has you up.

And apparently Solomon as well, because he groans something unintelligibly and squeezes your waist again. 

"What is it?" His voice is groggy, too deep from the couple hours of sleep the two of you have managed to catch. It sends a shiver down your spine, not unpleasant.

You shake him off and move to sit up, squinting at your phone. Lucifer called you twice. Asmodeus sent you a single text message that reads;

_**You owe me one ~** _

" _Shit,_ " you scramble out of bed and begin to put on your uniform, not caring if it's properly on. All you're thinking about is the fact Lucifer is going to fucking _end you_ , and not in any way you actually want him to. You hear Solomon say something to you, but you're too busy trying to cram your feet into your shoes and fuck — why is it so hard to get your foot in?!

You magically end up putting everything on and sliding your book-bag across your shoulders when Solomon turns the lights on. You spare a single glance his way, at some point he had put on some pajama pants, but from your spot at the door you can see some of the bruises from your kisses marring his pale skin. You can't look him in the eye.

"Thank you," It's the only thing you can think about before you open up the door and step outside.

"Wait, MC —" He starts, but you're already outside the building before he's able to successfully stop you.

You magically make it back to the House of Lamentation without bumping into any of the brothers by sneaking through the halls. Your D.D.D shows that it's a little past 2 a.m., and while your absence from dinner might be questioned, you could potentially get away with lying about what time you _actually_ got back to the dorm _—_ even if yesterday was the last day of classes, you're pretty sure Lucifer's curfew will still hold true. 

The minute you close the door to your bedroom, you lock the door. 

Your heart is beating erratically against your rib-cage, and as you start to quickly remove your shoes, socks, and then pants, you can't help but feel like an asshole. The sex was _amazing_ , but the way he had looked at you afterwards _—_

Immediately you notice that you're missing your jacket. Cursing, you dig into your pants pockets and fish out your D.D.D.

It takes you an eternity before you finally decide to text him.

_**i left my jacket at your place** _

You don't get a reply even after taking a shower that night, and when morning comes you still don't have one.

Eight a.m. rolls around, and if the brothers see you oddly attached to your phone, they don't make a mention of it. They're too preoccupied trying to figure out where exactly you had been last night, and even your dismissive "I was over at Purgatory Hall," is not enough to satiate Lucifer's curiosity. 

You make it a point to not look at Asmodeus, whose eyes you had met at one point across the table and instantly regretted it because that look? He looked too happy, like he _knew_. 

Your phone vibrates, startling you enough that you end up choking on the piece of toast you're eating. To your side, Beelzebub gives you a soft pat in the back.

"Don't choke."

"You seem awfully nervous this morning, darling."

God you're going to punch him. You glare at Asmodeus and give Beelzebub a soft smile. You open up your text messages and feel your heart skip a beat from nervousness at the message. 

**_It's safe with me. If you'd like I could ask Simeon to bring it over._ **

You can't help but frown, disappointment coiling low in your gut. You don't know him that well, maybe he doesn't hate your guts or maybe he does. But last night it certainly didn't seem like it... 

Solomon is... an interesting person, had last night not transpired you probably would've described him as shady. There's a part of you, the impulsive side, that doesn't want to act like nothing happened. Afterall, you never did quite finish inspecting all of his marks. 

You text him back. Surprisingly enough, his reply is immediate.

**_You're welcome back anytime, just say the words._ **

**Author's Note:**

> writing solomon was hard, hopefully i didn't make him too ooc? him asking mc at every step if they're okay with what they're doing comes from the fact that i wholeheartedly believe that he's so used to people distrusting him, that he has to make sure mc is 100% okay with this. words are powerful tools, and as a sorcerer he knows this. there's nothing more reassuring to him than verbal confirmation. mc is emotionally constipated and cannot handle anyone looking at them with anything akin to romantic intentions, sexual? that they can deal with. Solomon might uh, had caught feelings way before that night so he was in pure heaven tbh. 
> 
> also what's up with the lack of solomon/mc fics, we need more than what we already have pls. Did we really need almost 16k? i don't think so, but these two just kinda ran away from me so. excuse any mistakes, it's not beta read.


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